


A Blast From The Future

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Canon-Typical Violence, Chimeras, M/M, Prophet Stiles Stilinski, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can see the future, which can be a real bonus when your best friend is a werewolf with a knack for attracting trouble, but he is haunted by visions of death and destruction. With the town and everyone he loves in grave danger, Stiles has to find a way to stop this new threat. When the visions tell him the only solution is Derek’s blood sacrificed at the right moment he is suddenly tasked with the job of keeping the alpha alive but things get complicated when the two build a connection far deeper than friendship. Now Stiles must choose between the lives of the many or the life of the one person he has grown to love more than any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you all know, THIS WAS THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING! THE FIRST STEREK FIC IN MY ARSENAL! (except that one with the chocolate... it will never see the light of day... maybe) I started it back when season 1 first ended (that makes me feel old for some reason. I've been here a long time my friends...) and added to it as season 2 aired and well here we are.
> 
> It is first person, it is quirky, it takes lots of liberties with what a Chimera is, but I felt like it needed to be out in the world. Please enjoy my younger self's madness!
> 
> Edit March 2017: No, I still don't remember who "she" is supposed to be. Some prophetic force, possibly a god, that gives Stiles glimpses of the future. She's kind of a troll. You need to know that going forward.

**_The smell of blood and ash is thick. The air is a cacophony_ _of screaming, the crackle of burning buildings, and an inhuman shriek from the monster. There are people dying and I can’t find my Dad. _The night is lit like day with the blazes around us._  I hear a horrific shrieking noise. I’m trembling. Everything is dark and too bright all at once._**

I’ve been having this dream for weeks. I know She’s telling me something hugely important that’s coming, but sometimes I wish she’d just give me a clear message, like ZOMBIES IMPENDING. But I guess you can’t just slap world ending warnings into an envelope and ship them first class.

Anyway, prophetic dreaming isn't normal for me so this is big. Problem is, I only remember two things clearly. 1) the A-class creepy monster rising above the ruins to kill us all, and 2) a living, breathing Derek Hale is essential to saving the world somehow.

That last one is a problem because he's going to die.

Derek Stubborn As Hale and I have been standing in the train depot for the better part of twenty minutes bickering. Rule number one, even when saving someone's life, is never tell anyone you can see the future. I've gotten enough horrible flashes from her about it to know. However, that means Derek is less than grateful that I've come on the angelic mission to keep his Great Scowliness from dying a terrible death by traffic today because he doesn't, and can't, know what I know. At least I think it's traffic; there's twisted metal and blood on pavement and I can't imagine what else that could be. However, he refuses to believe that this is a good day to avoid driving anywhere.

Derek would be a good leader if he wasn’t such a distrustful moron all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I get it; he’s lost everyone he ever cared about because he trusted all the wrong people; like that psycho, Kate Argent. How do I know about Kate? Well, let’s just say I saw that kidnap scenario coming and, let’s face it; a relationship that goes that badly south leaves a little more than an impression on a person.

Any who… Derek doesn’t seem to ever stop pushing the right people away and allowing the wrong ones close. Honestly, if Derek wasn't necessary to the saving the world plan, the good Saint Stiles would be starting to think maybe it would be better just to let the ungrateful heathen try his luck out in the world.

“I know you’re not going to believe me,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm but it probably didn’t sound calm through my teeth, “but you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“And why should I trust you," Derek asks, glaring me down.

_The sound of shattering glass. The floor rocking crunch of heavy metal shearing itself off the roof like the hand of Thor had come down and yanked it off. The metallic smell of blood. A bug zapper snap of electricity turned up to 100. The acrid stench of burned hair and flesh._

The vivid flash comes on suddenly and without much warning so it's a wonder I got his name out of my mouth at all as I shout a warning and lung forward. I knock Derek aside just as the light overhead gives an almighty screaming creak as it falls right where he would have been standing. I’ll admit it wasn’t my most graceful rescue, ending with me mostly on top of Derek, who I had tackled to the ground and a bit of glass in my ankle that hurt like hell. There’s a price for changing the future and not being fast enough to get out of the way.

Derek seems slightly stunned by this development, just looking over my shoulder with one hand balled in my sweatshirt protectively like he might pull me out of the way next. When did he do that? Werewolves are funny like that; especially Derek. Protectiveness must just come with the instincts.

I roll onto my side to address the issue of the literal stabbing pain in my ankle from the shard of glass stuck there. I try not to look and I really don’t want to touch it, but I have to man up to my injury, it could have been a lot worse after all. Derek notices the glass and probably smells the blood by the flare of his nostrils. I’m trying to beat down thoughts of permanent damage and the inability to walk and the chance that I’ll never get to play lacrosse and win Lydia’s heart like I always dreamed. My hand is on a slow and inevitable journey toward the glass bit and I can almost feel the edge of it, but Derek grabs my hand.  He is gentle but firm and I trump down the gut wrenching gratitude at having someone else figure this out while I maintain my manly front and fight down the not at all manly sob I really want to let out.

Derek gently prods the skin near the glass and I suck in a hiss because that _hurts_. I try to fight down the fear the feeling brings to mind of that glass slowly moving closer to vital areas in my leg that will render me forever crippled. With my luck, that would be my punishment for saving the doomed alpha from being crushed by a light like the roadrunner under an anvil.

Derek’s hands are steady and firm on my leg as he grabs above my ankle with one hand. I’m too busy arguing my point to the Universe that I still deserve both legs to pay much attention as his other hand suddenly rips the glass from my skin. It parts fast but in an unforgivingly painful way and I have no problems admitting that I screamed. There is no one here to hear it but Derek, so if I am ever asked about it that was a manly cry of pain.

I feel myself falling, because why not add more insult to injury and by making my face and the pavement the best of friends too? I always said I was too pretty. But instead of planting half my face into the concrete, my trajectory is changed and my head is met with the ridiculously well muscled chest of one, life just saved courtesy of Stiles _again_ , Derek Hale. Seriously, Derek could lay off the workout for a day or two, if only to save my last shred of self esteem.

He’s got an arm around my shoulders to keep me from falling and his other is holding onto a small shiny thing that I realize after a second is the glass shard that was just in my skin. Most of it is covered in blood and a drop hits the floor as I watch but it’s not the foot long railroad spike it had felt like; this thing was only about the length of one of Derek’s knuckles. I feel a nervous but relieved laugh bubble up past my lips and I can practically hear the glass bit mocking me.

I’m glaring at it for about ten seconds when I finally come around to the fact that I’m still all snuggled up on Derek’s chest like some fainting Victorian lady. I glance up at him, getting ready to make my excuses and such, but he’s not looking at me. He’s still examining my ankle and the bit of glass with that scowling look on his face like there might be something terribly wrong with one of them.

Worried I might actually lose my foot, I wiggle my ankle and it stings but it’s not the debilitating wound I had conjured up before. She let me off easy with this one. I had a valid point though; being crushed to death by a light was no way for anyone to go out, letting Derek die like that was just not cool and I had really had no choice.

At the movement, Derek’s attention is back on me and the firm grip he has on my shoulders like he didn’t know I was still there. When his eyes meet mine there’s a guardedness to them but I don’t really take that in because I’m hit with that flash She gives me sometimes when I’m around him. It’s usually not very clear and I don’t pay it a lot of attention because it never seems to make any sense, but being pressed to his chest makes a few things clearer and a string of details rushes through my head with new context. _Derek_ _’s heartbeat quick and steady in my ear, the impression of his smile, an easy laugh I didn_ _’t know Derek had the ability to make, being enclosed in a circle of warmth, and some feeling I don_ _’t quite understand that_ _’s heavy and warm in my chest._ I realize after a flabbergasted second that I just got a flash of cuddling, cuddling with Derek Hale. The shock of it makes me freeze for a few seconds and forget that I should probably get up now, but what did I need dignity for anyway?

“What was that, Stiles,” he asks suspiciously, probably talking about my saving him from death via light fixture.

I don’t know what my face looks like but it’s probably stranger than usual because his guarded look takes on an edge of intense scrutiny. I find it hard to keep eye contact with the flash lingering around in my head telling me She-only-knows what. It can’t mean what I think; that would be crazy. My eyes dart downward, away from the laser beams that his eyes have become, and catch suddenly and irresistibly on his lips. _Derek_ _’s breath is hot and intimate against my face and I can almost taste him, he_ _’s so close. And he_ _’s getting closer. There_ _’s a feeling partway between pure ice and an eclectic current running through my body and suddenly it becomes heat that lights up every nerve like a circuit board as Derek_ _’s lips_ — I jerk my head violently away to a random point on the floor I don’t really see with a gasp like I was actually holding my breath the whole time. Derek can probably hear my heart going a mile a minute.

I push away from him self-consciously, that flash resonating in my head and filling it with a buzzing like a thousand angry bees took up residence there. I’m still close to him and I feel more of the flash coming on and shoot back, ignoring the slight twinge in my ankle, until I'm a few feet away from him. I vaguely hear Derek say my name with the rise at the end that punctuated it in a question mark.

"I did not sign up for this," I barely register myself talking over the shock and the irrational anger boiling up from nowhere even though I’m shouting, "I'm supposed to save this stupid town and keep your were-ass alive. That's it. So what the hell..." I force myself to stop and run a shaking hand over my face, shuddering as my fingers brush my lips. I curse under my breath, this can't be happening, She went too far with the joke this time.

I must look like a wreck because Derek has dropped some of his suspicion and is shifting his weight with the intention of moving toward me.

"Stay away," I scream with a desperate crack in my voice.

I can't handle that thought right now; I can't have Derek closer to me, not with that future so fresh in my head, not with the ghost of his touch still radiating through me. I don’t know what I would do if he touched me right now and that scares me. I try not to think about it, all the feelings left over from the flash. That is a big game changer and I am not ashamed to say that I want to cry like a snot-nosed toddler with a scraped knee because this is not fair and I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I slam my eyes shut and shake my head violently. He's literally a dead man walking. I can't be thinking about what could be. I can't afford to.

"Stiles," Derek yells and suddenly he's beside me, tugging my hand away from my hurt ankle which I didn’t realize I’d been squeezing.

_My head is buzzing with this feeling I can't identify, filling my chest with a molten warmth, and it only gets stronger as he gets closer so if he does touch me, my head will explode with it._

He's got both my wrist in a vice grip in either of his hands and I'm struggling because he's making it worse, making everything more vivid.

 _It shouldn'_ _t surprise me that Derek can be so gentle with his hands, they are registered weapons with a body count to their name but he cradles the back of my head so softly, so affectionately, as though I_ _’m actually something precious._

I can feel a different type of flash trying to bubble up around the first and I know what this one is going to be and it’s a different kind of bad and I need him to get off NOW.

**_Fear and pain shred through me with icy claws and I know everyone I love is about to die unless I do the one thing that will tear my world apart._ **

I open my eyes and catch sight of my own blood slicked on my hand and Derek, worried and yelling something but the words don't registering over everything else in my head.

**_There_ _’s a high banshee scream over the horrified cries of the dying and the terrified. The flickering orange gives light to the otherwise pitch black night; everything is burning. I feel myself spinning toward our only hope, the world becoming a kaleidoscope of reds and black as I one-eighty._**

I might be crying, unless the ceiling is leaking or something.

_It should be illegal to kiss so well. I press closer, aware of nothing but the heat of his breath, the movement of his mouth on mine, and the characteristic way he tastes._

I freeze in place. That can’t be right, none of this is right; She is playing a joke on me, that has to be it.

**_Derek_ _’s eyes are completely trusting as they turn from the flames to meet my eyes like he_ _’s waiting for me to prompt him, tell him the plan, tell him how to stop this, but I already know, there's_ _only one final thing he can do and my heart screams its_ _agony at the very thought._**

I throw my head forward against Derek’s chest in frustration because I just want him to let go but he won’t do it. My breath is shaky as I try to draw it in and can't. My head is spinning with the sensations that are flashing through faster than a shutter lens.

My eyes drop down to my ankle and – **_A cascade of crimson pours over his grey shirt that_ _’s been torn to reveal flesh beneath, equally ripped asunder, and the sliver of the blade in my hand glints between the blood splatter_** – my vision mercifully begins to go black at the edges.I welcome the dark oblivion whole heartedly, falling into the arms of unconsciousness with all I’ve got as the images, sounds, smells, tastes, and feelings fade away. But not before one last sound, with an origin I can’t discern, flutters in – _“I love you._ _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

I wake with my head resting on something warm comfortable. One side of my body is warmer than the other and I reposition myself so my cold side is closer to the warmth just as my sluggish brain throws up a red flag; I can hear breathing under my ear. My head is lifted a fraction and dropped back down slowly as whoever I am laying on draws in and releases a breath. I dubiously poke a finger, hard, into the cushion of flesh beneath me and am rewarded with a grunt and a sharp tug on my ankle as something is tightened unexpectedly. I yelp in pain as my ankle twinges and look down to see a cloth bandage wrapped around the puncture wound.

“Stiles,” I can hear the growl of annoyance rise up through Derek’s chest, rumbling against my ear.

“That’s my name,” I say in a knee jerk fashion.

I’m sitting between Derek’s legs, leaning back against him, one of my legs bent toward my chest so he can tend to my ankle. I squirm; trying to get away from him, worried the flashes will assault me again.

“Stop it,” I feel more than hear the stern words as Derek warningly flexes his arms around me and ties a knot in the cloth. I stubbornly hold out my sluggish struggle a second longer before relaxing when She throws nothing more alarming at me than the fact that there are clouds overhead that will be gone by morning without dropping any moisture.

Derek works with sure hands; probably used to patching himself up from all his werewolf shenanigans. I breathe a heavy sigh as my eyes drift across the floor toward the wreckage of the light that is farther away by at least ten feet than it had been when I went under.

“How long was I out,” I ask, wondering idly whether he carries bandages with him all the time or went to grab them from somewhere else while I was passed out on the floor.

“Not long enough,” he says under his breath, shoving my hand out of the way as I reach toward the cloth.

“Oh come on, you know you missed my charming personality,” I tease, almost reflexively.

Apparently satisfied with his work Derek drops his hands from my ankle.

“Thank you,” Derek says it like the words are being forcefully dragged from him with a hot poker or something.

Don’t thank me yet, I might have just killed us all anyway. I almost say that aloud but decide better of it; if She’s listening for more ideas to make my life hell I don’t want to make it easy for Her. Maybe letting him die now would save me a lot of trouble later. But then again if he does die then I guess I have no one to be my bad cop, god knows Scott couldn’t do it justice. Could you imagine Scott and his puppy eyes trying to interrogate a witness? That thought brings an unintended smirk to my lips, which Derek sees and scowls at; probably thinking I’m making fun of him or something for not being the big bad werewolf man he thinks he is.

“Well congratulations,” I say, beaming annoyingly up at him, “you just got your butt saved by the one and only Stiles Stilinski. You might want to get used to it because guess who they sent as your guardian angel.”

“You said something like that earlier. What were you talking about,” Derek asks and the crease in his brow is almost worried.

I know he’s asking about what happened before I passed out, but even I’m not sure what that was about and I’d rather pretend that particular episode never happened. I extricate myself from Derek, who surprisingly lets me go, and gain some breathing room. I stretch my leg out carefully, testing it a little to see what hurts, but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be a long lasting injury.

Derek waits expectantly while I do this and I know it’s a pointless battle to try and change the subject so I just say, “I don’t know what you mean.”

It was probably too much to hope that he would just drop it at that. He glares disapprovingly at me, calling my lie.

I give him my best crooked smirk and try to throw it off with a flippant, “Pain and blood loss does some weird things to people.”


	3. Chapter 3

**_The air is full of ash and the smell of blood. I turn one way and then another. On one side of me there_ _’s a blackened wall. On the other side is Derek Hale. I can hardly breathe from running so hard. We haven_ _’t gone the right direction though. There_ _’s a desperate urgency about everything and I know we_ _’ll never get there in time._**

**_The night is lit like day with the blazes around us. There are screams everywhere, people dying, and I can_ _’t find my Dad. I hear a horrific shrieking noise. I_ _’m trembling. Everything is dark and too bright all at once._**

**_I hear Derek say my name but not what else comes with it. I know his lips are moving and he_ _’s looking at me like I can solve this. I can, the one for the many, but I don_ ' _t want this. My stomach feels like it filled with ice. I turn to Derek and I can feel something cold and hard in my hand. It glints in the flickering light._**

I wake up screaming to the fading image of blood.

 

 

I’ve flipped through the pages of the bestiary for days it feels like, trying to find something that resembles the thing in my dream. It isn’t a picture book though; all the illustrations are archaic as the Latin beneath them and not necessarily accurate to the creature’s real features.

I finally lean back in my chair and scrub a hand over the back of my head, tired of staring at creepy pictures of creepier things that I really don’t want to ever have to face outside pixelated ink drawings.

“Hey, Stiles,” Dad’s voice comes suddenly from the doorway and I lose my balance in the chair. I flail for a second or two before catching onto the desk and straightening out, trying to play it cool as I turn to look at him and answer, “Hey, Dad. How’s work?” Dad’s got an eyebrow raised but doesn’t comment as he gives me the short on some old laid convinced she saw an alien.

“An alien,” I repeat wondering if it could be related. I try not to sound too interested as I ask, “What did she say it looked like?”

I knew I didn’t pull off the casual as well as I could have because he looks suspicious but talks anyway, "She says it was big and silver with flames shooting off of it or something."

"Did it have a tail," I ask nonchalantly.

"As long as its body, if you believe Grammy Nuts," Dad says, eyeing me.

I force myself to laugh it off and throw suspicion. That sounds kind of like my creepilicious monster. I glance at the bestiary like it's been listening and can confirm for me.

“So what are you doing,” he asks, trying to catch a look at the screen.

I lean my elbow not so casually on the desk blocking it as I throw out, “nothing much just a boring research project.”

“Need any help,” he offers. It’s really nice of him and my gut clenches at hiding this from him.

I sit back and sight resignedly as I say, “I’m good I just don’t know how to find what I’m looking for in this book.”

“Well maybe you should try flipping through it until it feels like you’re on the right page,” Dad suggests then adds more quietly, “It’s what your mother used to do.”

We’re both quiet for a moment caught on the mention of her. Dad clears his throat and excuses himself. I finally pull myself back out of memories of her smiling face and look at the bestiary wondering if that could possibly work

I toss my neck to get the kinks out of it and reposition my finger over the next page button. I start at the front, close my eyes, and click through the pages, concentrating. It takes forever and I eventually just see how fast I can flip through. Then it hits me, at right around five hundreds. I stop, knowing I’m close. I flip through slowly until the feeling is loud and insistent and then I turn one last page and it stops. This is it, I can feel it in my bones, this is my monster.

And what a monster it is! The pictures accompanying it are grotesque and pretty accurate to the dream version, though these guys could have used a lesson or two about form and dimension. The beast is positioned in the middle of a burning forest with fire shooting out of its sides and its head thrown back to yowl. Its huge fangs poke out of its upper and lower jaw, long enough to bite a person clean in two. Its body is covered in an exoskeleton that looks almost scale plated. Its claws are long and fierce and its tail curls around, razor sharp and lethal. The black and white image sends a chill down my spine and the beast from my nightmare flashes before my eyes in vivid Technicolor.

 

 

Not able to read them myself, though I'm getting on that archaic Latin thing, I print the pages about the creature and seek our resident expert. I scoot into the seat across from her and go for charming and casual as I say, “Hey Lydia. I-”

“No, she interrupts curtly with a cold smile without looking up.

I deflate and protest, “You didn’t even hear my question.” I’m feeling kind of indignant and I know I’ll have to resort to begging and bribery because she’s not in a charitable mood.

“I don’t have to,” she says simply, “You want me to do something for you and the answer is no.”

“Look,” I say, breaking down to the serious, “I just need you to translate these for me.”

I push the printed pages across at her and cross my fingers, hoping she taps into that little well of kindness in her soul and just does it. I’d settle for her just being curious too, whatever.

She picks them up unenthusiastically, with a bored, “More pages from your stupid book? I really don’t want to know what else is going to try to kill us, okay?”

“Come on, you’re the only one smart enough to read them,” I say honestly. It’s the truth, Lydia Martin is a genius. She give me a searching look and I meet it, looking sincerely back into those beautiful green eyes I’d always hoped in vain would turn my way. This wasn’t the time to dwell on that though.

“Please, Lydia,” I plead, all pretense gone.

She sighs heavily in a resigned fashion and I want to pump a fist in the air because she’s actually going to do it.

 

 

The translation sends chills down my back and if I have to spend one more minute thinking about poison tipped claws I'm going to throw myself off the roof. I decide maybe it's time to seek an expert.

"So I was looking into some monsters and I just have a few quick questions," I begin after catching Chris Argent in his garage, door open to the world as he pops the hood of his car.

"Fine," he sighs resigned by he's stern when he says, "but make it quick."

“Do you know how to kill a Chimera,” I ask, jumping in and feigning a strictly clinical interest.

“Just about everything dies if you cut its head off,” he says flippantly, messing with something out of my view as I lean against the passenger door, “But that’s the last thing I’d want to hunt.”

“Why not,” I ask with the horrible feeling that I already know why.

“Well, its shell is almost impossible to penetrate, its teeth and claws can rip through solid steel like rice paper, its super speed and healing even outmatch a werewolf, and that's not even the worst of it. It’s a creature made for ultimate destruction,” he stares darkly at a point in midair, caught in thought as he continues chillingly, “To survive that encounter would be a miracle, but to kill one? You’d have to be psychic.”

I giggle distractedly at the irony and my voice sounds just as nervous as it should as I half joke, “So a group of them would be pretty bad, huh?”

He visibly tenses as if the very idea of it is too horrible to contemplate. I feel my odds dwindling with every second and I wonder if it's too late to call a mass evacuation and just nuke town.

"They aren't something to worry about, Stiles. There aren't many of them and they keep to their own territory; it's rare that they come near humans," he explains as he straightens up and closes the hood. His tone is serious enough that he isn't just trying to comfort me or get me off his back, well mostly.

"Why would one come our way then," I ask, only remembering to make it light at the last second. I still get the look.

Chris shrugs and sighs like I'm wasting his time speculating, but he still answers, "The only time they seem to leave their territory is to nest."

I suddenly remember a paragraph about that. Something about thirty to forty offspring, most of them kill each other as they reach full adulthood, like middle schoolers on crack. I shiver and my throat is suddenly very dry.

"Well thanks, you've been a big help," I tell him distractedly. I go to slap him on the back but he gives me a look that could melt concrete and I suddenly decide that I like my hand and all that it does and will never take it for granted again. I wave instead and leave in mild wonder that he isn't the scary spouse.


	4. Chapter 4

“Stiles, what are you doing,” Derek asks, shocked.

“I have to do this, I can’t let that happen,” I try to explain, but I know he won’t understand that and there’s really nothing else I can tell him right now.

I’m going over my supplies in my head but it’s hard to think with Derek’s betrayed expression taking up my peripheral vision. I shut my eyes hard, trying to will my feet into motion but torn because I don’t want that look to be the last I ever see of him. It's been really nice getting to know him better since the incident with the light. We'd become, dare I say it, close and it wasn't just the three or four more life saving that had done it either. He didn't even know about those as they were, admittedly, less dramatic, involving a picnic, a set of handcuffs, and a suspiciously heavy can of spray cheese, though not all at the same time.

I shake myself from the sweet memories because I have to get moving. I know as soon as I start the jeep Derek will stop shouting at me and howl instead. I know Scott will show up first and Derek will be yelling at him to find me. I know Scott will follow my scent as far as he can after he’s called Deaton to release Derek from the mountain ash and I know that my plan to leave a false trail will work. What I don’t know, is what happens when I enter _their_ cave. There’s blood and darkness lit by sputtering little flames but I don’t know much after that.

It occurs to me again that this might be the last great act of Sties Stilinski, that I don’t know anything after that because I don’t live to see it. That thought draws my eyes open because I have to see Derek one more time. His eyes are pleading and I know he doesn’t understand and I don’t have time to explain and that hurts.

“Take care of them,” I find the words falling from my mouth before I can stop them, “Make sure Scott graduates and if Peter dies again make sure he stays that way and don’t go turning more kids who don’t know any better and don’t let my dad drink too much and --”

“What are you talking about,” Derek asks, tone bordering on frantic now because this sounds like the last will and testament that it probably is.

It feels like there’s a hole in my chest, a bloody gap where my heart was that Derek is tearing at with that helpless, hurt expression. All I want in the world at this moment is to rush up to him and hold on and never let go.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not able to really speak around the constriction of my throat.

It’s the truth, I’m sorry Derek lost everything once and the way he’s looking at me says it’s happening again, but I have to do this. It’s the only way to save everyone I love.

I freeze in shock for a second as I realize that word applies to Derek. Then I remember the sappy expression on Scott’s face when he realized he was in love with Allison and a thin, bitter laugh erupts from my throat.

It’s a new pain now, looking a him and knowing I probably won’t get to explore that further.

“Derek, I,” I try to say it but the words get stuck in my head and my mouth and my heart and they just won’t come. So I just look at him for a moment longer and hope he reads my words, voice, heartbeat, eyes, scent, everything, I hope my whole being is screaming it at him because I can’t. I hope he gets it.

Then I just can’t look at him anymore and I’m running. I barely remember to drop his phone at the door, my throat constricting. He’s calling my name and I can’t listen because I’ll turn back and let him hold me there with his stupid werewolf strength and I’ll kiss him and not care if the world around us burns. I have to care though, we’re all dead if I don’t and there’s no way in hell I’m killing that clueless alpha if I can help it.

So I turn the key in the ignition. I hear Derek howl and drive far faster than is safe.

 

The grave is top notch creepy. There are vines and roots that dive into the gaping black hole in the earth like they’re trying to crowd it out. The place has evil written all over it like someone took a sharpie to the mist. The only thing that’s really missing to complete the picture is a sign that says, “Welcome to the evil lair! May we offer you some cookies with your agonizing death?”

I’m holding the ax in one hand with a bruising grip so I don’t just bolt now. Nothing about this feels right and all I want is to go to school tomorrow like none of this ever happened but that’s not an option, hasn’t been for a while.

I take a deep breath and drop one of the fire extinguishers in my other hand on the ground in case I manage to get back up to get it. The silver handle at the top hangs over the edge, caught by a root glaring dully at me, like it too is telling me I’m a fool.

It doesn’t matter that it feels wrong; I have to do this now, while the moon is new and they’re dormant and weak. By the full moon they’ll have matured and weeded out the weak among them and the survivor (or worse, survivors) will rain their fiery wrath down on Beacon Hills and beyond. So, it’s Stiles to the rescue. Again.

I take another deep breath, look at the stars one last time, and hope everyone else gets out of this alive. Then I jump into the grave. There are scorch marks on the entrance to the tunnel, not ominous at all. I duck low and creep as quietly as possible over the grit of the tunnel floor. I’m trying to breathe easy and not let the walls press in on me, but that’s easier said than done. I stop for a second and lean my forehead against the back of my hand on the wall. I breathe deep and slow, trying to ground myself. The wall smells of damp earth but the passage smells of a horrible mix of burning and charred remains and the barest hint of fresh air.

There’s a disgruntled, high pitched shriek that echoes back at me from deeper and the flare of light. I clench my hand into a fist the harsh edge of the second fire extinguisher cuts into my palm. I’m scared. Legitimately terrified, but if I don’t do this, we’re all dead. I think of my dad and Scott and Lydia and Derek and push on stubbornly. I know I’m a dead man, I know that but I’d rather die than let them.

I feel the air around me expand outward into a dimply lit chamber and the smell of burning almost chokes me. I cough involuntarily and know I’ve just ruined my limited element of surprise as flames shoot out about two feet from me, accompanied by another horrible shriek.

Like they usually do in life or death situations, the flashes are narrowing in focus so I’m only getting a hint a second before things happen. I get the mental nudge and jump back a half second before something whips at my feet. I drop the ax and yank on the hose of the fire extinguisher. White foam shoots out and the nearest flaming beast goes out, thrashing and screaming its inhuman noise.

I snatch up the ax and run, seeing where not to jump and weaving between lethal bodies as I spray as many as I can cover.

I run out somewhere along the way and beat the canister desperately before ducking and throwing it as hard as I can into the closest moving thing. There’s a satisfying thud and I catch the handle of the ax with both hands, suddenly wishing I’d brought something longer.

I catch a flash of blood and agony and duck backwards, Matrix style, as a horribly long set of claws rake the air less than an inch from my nose. Ignoring my almost literal brush with death, I follow the awkward slashing motion she throws at me, putting everything I’ve got behind it. I feel the few seconds of resistance as the ax head slices through a thin exoskeleton and meaty neck before slamming into the ground. There’s hot monster gunk coating my arms but I ignore it in favor of jumping and rolling forward to slam the ax home into the next thing, hearing  the ground behind me explode as something heavy slams against it.

I roll, duck, jump, spin, and slice without question, giving over entirely to the directions in my head that come only a second sooner than the actual events. It’s a weird flowing sort of feeling that I’ve never experienced before; I follow the path of my body from an instant in the future, like I’m the two second replay of something that’s already happened.

I feel confident, like some mix between Jackie Chan and a lumber jack, and I’m less sure that I won’t be the one to walk out of this alive. I laugh madly and swinging with new gusto. I really shouldn’t have let myself get distracted and make the most obvious action movie mistake ever, but I do because I’ve got a really good catch phrase. I’m angry at myself a second later, because as I open my mouth to say it, I miss the queue to move.

The next flash I get is of my arm getting ripped to bits by the claws coming at me and I throw myself out of the way, still half a second behind. I feel them catch at the flesh of my bicep and take a chunk. It doesn’t just hurt, it burns, like someone threw acid on a paper cut. I grab it reflexively and feel blood between my fingers. It’s not as bad as it could have been, but it’s agony and I writhe with the pain of it for longer than I should.

There are three left among the sludge of body parts scattered around the chamber. One is still covered in foam but the other two are spewing flames again in angry bursts as they advance on me. I haven’t really spared enough thought to really look at the things I was slashing at, but now I’m laying helplessly on my side, I see they’re just as hideous as they were in nightmares. They might actually look worse without the silver exoskeleton fully formed. This thinner version of the steel-hard stuff shows muscle and fire sacs and all manner of other things underneath. They’re about the size of Labradors and their claws are almost as big as their entire paw and then some. Their mean, unnaturally bright white eyes glare at me from the pits of their face. Their tails slash the air angrily with razor sharp whooshing.

There’s only one that’s entirely uninjured, the other two have severed limbs that are growing back in grey blobs at the end of stumps. I know I have to get that one first but my few seconds pause gives my body time to scream its exhaustion at me. I’ve been going at these guys nonstop for what feels like hours and I don’t know how much strength I’ve got left even to just sit up. My arms and legs are trembling from the exertion as I push myself up and I’m more out of breath than the time coach had me run suicides for mouthing off until he got bored.

I don’t have long to wish for a nice hot shower though, I pull on my reserves of energy and throw myself as far left as I can as one of them runs at me. Super speed is not a joke with these things.

I hit one of the dismembered bodies with my good shoulder and slide for a few feet on its gelatinous blood. I roll and just barely miss getting impaled as it chases me across the stone floor with its claws. As its yanking one claw out of the rock I just barely get on my feet again and wildly swing the ax. The head goes flying but so does half the ax. I’m too tired to have seen that coming and now I’m stuck with the severed handle and two very angry creatures from the black lagoon.

I curse vehemently as I look up at the monsters who have moved into some kind of formation to box me in against a wall. I get a second’s warning before I dodge a clawed limb by ducking through a spurt of flame. I smell burnt fabric and flesh and I know I’ve got third degree burns on my side, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m caught between the two of them and the domed wall of the cavern and it’s not about dodging the attacks anymore, but deciding which will be less immediately life threatening.

I’m slowing down and I’m not sure anymore if it’s my imagination or a flash, but I can see those claws ramming through my chest and choking on my own blood as it fills my lungs.

I close my eyes and brace myself, hoping it’s fast and I’ll get to see Mom again. That thought almost makes me smile even though I know Dad’s going to be lonely. I hope the hunters and werewolves get their acts together and kill these last guys because I did all the heavy lifting on this one and if it was all in vain I’m making their after lives hell.

I think of that hug I gave my dad and wish it’d been longer. I think of Derek and wish I’d kissed him before I left, just so I could remember it now. Last regrets, I guess. All these things go through my head in a slit second and then it’s just Derek’s face stuck in my head. Then his growl rocks my body and I can swear I hear him but that’s not possible because I’m supposed to be a millisecond from being skewered and he’s supposed to be following my false trail right now, except it’s been a few seconds and I’ve not been stabbed or shred into a hundred pieces.

I crack an eye open, not daring to hope, and there’s Derek Hale in all his fanged and clawed glory, standing amid the wreckage of bodies like some leather clad knight in armor here to rescue me. I don’t get to think about how emasculating that metaphor is for me because the two chimeras have turned and are shrieking back at him with at an earsplitting pitch. Derek advances a step and howls at them in an unmistakable war cry.

I’ll admit I’m a little in shock at my good fortune but it doesn’t take me more than a second to remember that, even with the monster stare down going on, I’m still in danger. One of their tails whips out and I get the hint to jump just as it’s about to slice my ankle off.

Before I’m forced to play jump rope with death any longer, I use the beast’s armored back and launch myself as far away as I can get. I smell burning rubber from my shoes and I know it got me in passing as I jumped over it, but I’m like a unicorn on drugs at this point, fueled by dumb luck, hope, and rainbows. Then I slip on a patch of rock coated in monster guts and everything goes dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went through and did some minor editing to this fic to make things make a little more sense and decided to just finish it. This was originally going to be the halfway point, but it's a fine spot to stop.

“How did you do it,” Derek asks, like the intimating, down to business kind of guy he is.

It’s a real struggle not to roll my eyes at him. He’s giving me this look from across my hospital room like I’m about the spout a second head or spontaneously combust. You’d almost think I was the dangerous one in this situation.

“Hello to you too, Derek,” I say condescendingly because a little bit of common courtesy wouldn’t kill the guy, “Nice to see you’re not dead either.”

“How did you kill them,” he asks in that slow, dangerous way he does when he fully enunciates every word and you know things just got serious with a capital S.

I’m actually surprised he asked twice, but being injured and human has it’s perks. I’m tired though and I hurt in about four hundred and seventy two different ways squared, so I really just want him to leave or do something sappy like come be my werewolf pillow.

“With an ax,” I sound accurately tired and annoyed, “Look, we can exchange notes later, but right now-”

Derek interrupts curtly, “You killed ten of those things, Stiles. Scott and I almost died killing one.”

Now it’s the accusation face and I really can’t help but feel like this is less about knowing how I pretty much saved the world and more about my tarnishing his record as most dangerous fighting machine. That gives me a shine of pride but his words are really getting under my skin because he has his facts wrong.

“Chris Argent said it was sixteen, which, if you’re rounding, is almost twenty,” I correct, wanting to keep my own record straight, “and I know I usually have the grace of a newborn giraffe compared to you guys, but I’ve been working out lately, alright? My cardio is top notch.”

I cross my arms defiantly over my chest just to annoyingly mirror him and glare back. I catch the tick in his jaw and she gives me the hint I didn't need to see Derek rushing at me and trying to intimidate me with his macho man werewolf strength into spilling my guts about how I single handedly (did I mention that?) beheaded an army of deadly beasties that he had no hope against. I tense and shove the heel of my hand outward. The timing is perfect and I hear Derek’s teeth clack together as my bandaged palm collides with his chin. He pulls back, holding his jaw more in surprise than anything and I take a little victory in that but I’m furious at this point.

“No, no you don’t,” I shout at him, in no mood for this, “You do not get to throw me around. I’ve got severe burns, head trauma, and this giant gash on my arm that they don’t have a painkiller strong enough to stop hurting. So you can just scrap that idea right now.”

He’s got this almost comical look on his face like someone switched the salt and sugar. If I wasn’t tired, hurting, and angry, I’d probably have laughed. His expression turns wary and he starts to shrink back into the shadows and that’s really not what I was going for here.

“Derek,” I say and wipe a hand across my face like maybe that’ll get rid of all this, “I just need you to trust me on this, okay?”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” his wary words mean it’s two steps back again, so much for progress.

“What,” I’m yelling and exasperated and sick of this stupid tango we’ve got going on, “you think I’d hurt you? Or Scott? Or anyone? So I kicked some serious monster tail, why are you acting like it changes anything? Why can’t you just say, ‘thanks,’ or, ‘good job, you really saved us there, Stiles,’ like everybody else?”

He’s kind of dropped his guard but he hasn’t gotten any closer and yeah that hurts. I’m kind of a romantic and maybe he wasn’t going to forgive me for trapping him while I risked my life but the distance, and I don’t just mean the physical few feet between us, is kind of killing me. He looks away and I suddenly think, maybe it’s killing him too. I’m not exactly the harmless human he thought and maybe he doesn’t really know how to deal with that, he’s had some trouble with those kinds of humans before after all.

“Look,” I start, resigned, but then something he said clicks in my head and the numbers don’t add up and none of it matters again.

“How many did you say you killed,” I ask him, eyes boring into him like I can read the answer in his eyes.

He’s defensive now but I guess that comes with the territory. His voice is still wary but with a hint of confusion now as he says, “One, but-”

I don’t let him finish, I don’t want to hear the rest because there were two when I went down and that is way more important.

“Damn it, Derek,” I curse, trying to shove my way out of bed but I stop because my arm shoots boiling oil across my nerves at the sudden motion and I double over in agony.

It hurts just to breathe and Derek’s hands are pushing me back but I barely notice because that hurts. I bury my head against his shoulder and try to hold back tears but that doesn’t work out so well. I grit my teeth so hard I’m almost positive they are about to crack. Then it goes away, like it’s just being drained out and I go limp with relief.

“Morphine’s got nothing on you,” I sigh, and I don’t want him to ever let go again.

The lack of agony is wonderfully refreshing and I feel light weight. I don’t think I can stay awake much longer even though I have to move and go after that thing.

“I have to find it,” I mumble, but I know he can hear me just fine.

"It's dead," Derek says firmly, one hand tightening on my arm to keep me from going anywhere.

It slipped my mind, somewhere in the horror of potentially losing this stupid man child to stop world ending levels of evil, that I already knew this. Chris had gotten his happy little hunter gang some new toys after some strange, unnamed teenager had asked him some very specific and apparently suspicious questions. I vehemently thank all the powers that be Allison's father is a severely paranoid individual with a weapons fetish, though I guess you don't last long in his profession if you aren't.

The adrenaline spike subsides in light of this revelation and giddiness fills my body so fast a manic laugh starts stringing itself together in my throat and leaking out of my mouth in strange hiccups. It can't be this easy though, right? I mean, horrifically painful injuries aside, everyone came out of potential disaster alright. That isn't how my life works.

The werewolf mojo seems to have loosened my tongue and I know if I open my mouth I'll regret it later, but I just don’t care at the moment. "Were you even that important or was she just pulling people I love out of a hat and throwing them at me as a motivational metaphor," the question bursts out of my mouth in a frustrated shout. 

Derek tenses and it kind of hits me what I said. I didn’t really out myself unless Derek really shoots for the moon in piecing it together, but the other part? That was definitely an ‘I love you’ in a sort of round about all-encompassing sort of way. I know he can hear my heart racing and I try to calm down because, really, that’s not the most urgent issue right now.

“She? Stiles what are you talking about,” Derek asks.

And of course, Derek zeros in on the other part which there’s definitely no way I can explain. I was supposed to die before we got to this line of questioning. This wasn’t really how I planned to spill my guts but desperate times call for desperate measures and, no, I’m not above using my feelings to manipulate this situation out of dangerous waters. So as soon as I see that confused crease in his brow, I use my good leg and lunge forward. There’s no real finesse to it and I miss the mark by a little so I catch the edge of his mouth, but it’s a quick fix and my thoughts go blank.

This is infinitely more mind blowing than anything I could have imagined and I’m almost sure I've actually died and gone to heaven. It's kind of rough with stubble and chapped lips but I really don’t care because Derek’s doing this thing with his mouth and there's maybe a little bit of teeth and I am weirdly all kinds of okay with that. My hands have grown a mind of their own because they are moving and this guy is built like a great, hot wall of man pain and mildly homicidal tendencies. There’s a hand on the back of my neck and one on the bed next to my hip and its getting all kinds of up close and personal and, oh god yes, he can just keep doing that. Everything in my world becomes hot breath and gentle hands and I could live with that taste in my mouth a lot more often, like multiple times a day for hotly extended amounts of time. I might be the first test subject for death by mind melting kiss. That’s a thing now.

Someone pulls back though and suddenly air, my old friend, comes back to visit. Derek’s face is only a few inches away and I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who can’t catch his breath. His pupils are hugely dilated and I’m pretty sure his irises were flashing red a second ago. This is a distraction I plan to use with great frequency and enthusiasm.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr [here](http://alexdoesthings.tumblr.com/)


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